Misfit 13
by kenkuma
Summary: Not quite fanfic, not quite original. A group of three shinobi are placed in a cell, none of them quite fitting in with society, Yuuko Hakurou, Kishita Emi, and Makki Kazna. This is the story of their lives.


Please let it be noted that I do not own Naruto or any related materials. This is a fan fiction (sort of, please see my snippet below) and it brings me no personal gain at all. This is done for entertainment purposes only, and I do not gain anything from it. To reinstate, I do not own Naruto, or the world of Naruto. I also do not own the character Hakurou, but have received permission from his creator to use him.

For those of you that read this, looking for a Naruto fan fiction, this isn't exactly one. It takes place in the same world, and might even have mentioning and brief interactions with them, but it isn't about Naruto and crew. This is about an original group of shinobi created by the owner of a Naruto RPG site and myself. I never thought that I would write something like this, being annoyed when people write such things, but I love the story that has come from the role-playing. I would write one that is actually about the original characters if I felt I'd do the show justice. This is the only place I can tell the tale. And now, onto the show. And just a quick side note, I use the traditional last name first name format.

nreep

PROLOUGE 1: MAKKI KAZNA, THE DISOWNED AND DEAD SON

A father shook his head in shame, and ran a hand through his thick mat of black hair. He was a large man with arms bigger around then his head. Before him was his son, Makki Kazna, recently turned seven, but looking only five. The boy was coughing and shaking as usual. Kazna had been born early and seemed to always be sick. In one hand he held an old, and off balanced kunai, meant for practice. Tears flowed from Kazna's eyes due to the nice cut that he'd managed to give himself. The cut went from the bottom of his cheek up to the top of the cheekbone. Already that side of his face was stained with blood.

"Kazna," his father spat out, his voice rough on the boy's name, "What clan do you belong to?"

"Th..the M..mm..Makki c..clan s.sir," Kazna stuttered. It wasn't so much his father frightened him… who was he kidding? His father terrified him. So did his mother. They were just such powerful shinobi, and two crucial defenders of the small village of Wanryoku. He had two uncles, (actually one was his cousin, but was as close to his father as the true uncle was), which he'd never seen before, on his father's side, and Kazna was sure that he'd be terrified of them. One had been on an important mission most of his life, and the other had settled in Hidden Rain.

"And what is the Makki clan symbol?"

In an almost inaudible voice Kazna answered, "A kunai sir"

"For a change you did something right boy. The symbol for our clan is a kunai knife, printed or stitched on the sleeves of our shirts. And do you know why? The Makki are experts with kunai blades. They are our primary weapons. They are the first thing we draw in battle, and the last thing we will die by. Even at a young age we're masters of them. And yet you don't seem to be able to pick one up without hurting yourself! If you didn't look so much like your mother and I, son, I'd swear you weren't a Makki."

Kazna found himself disagreeing with his father. True he had the same mane of black hair and black eyes as them, but he looked different. Where his mother and father had muscles he had scrawny limbs. The only strength that they had to them was strength to outrun the rest of the boys, and to keep up with the numerous lizards that were like greased lightning. But that wasn't right. Makki's were suppose to be strong and hardy. Speed didn't matter. It was brute force and endurance that counted. A Makki won because of their stamina, kunai mastery, and ability to take a lot of damage and still perform well. Also no matter how hard he tried, Kazna's eyes wouldn't be as fierce as his parents. At least not to the same degree and consistency.

Kazna handed back the kunai and stood with his head facing the ground. He didn't have any kunai of his own other then his birthright ones. Nestled in his hair was a small hidden braid with two kunai, just slightly longer then his longest finger. Too small to be good for anything but a last resort. For as long as he could remember his life had a pattern. Each morning his father or mother would give him a kunai or two to practice with, and they would take the low quality blade back at the end of the day. Kazna really did try to improve. Sometimes his mind would wander and he could make the metal do anything he wanted. But when he tried to repeat it, and show his parents his improvement… he'd end up with another cut, or dropping the blade. The highlight was when he managed to nearly blind a wandering cat in a spectacular display of clumsiness. The owner chewed out Kazna until she saw his parents standing over him.

"Go do your chores and then you can go to your grandparents restaurant," his mother said.

Kazna rushed through the small tasks he was given, not bothering to clean up his room. It was clean anyways. His bed was neatly made and the thick pile of large books stacked in a hidden place. Kazna loved to read, something his parents frowned on. They preferred him to practice his blade work. Satisfied that he had gotten something done he headed to the restaurant.

Some village members were entering and exiting when he arrived, so Kazna held the door open till it died down. The smell of his grandparent's ramen and tamagoyaki made his mouth water. His feet lead him to the counter, where he waited patiently until he was noticed.

"Kazna! What happened to your cheek?" his grandfather asked, ushering the boy into the kitchen. His grandparents had been shinobi as well, but had long since retired and opened up their restaurant. "Obâsan, come over here, the boy's been hurt again!"

This couldn't help but bring a smile onto his face. His grandparents had called each other mother and father so long before he was born, and grandma and grandpa when he was. Not even their children were sure to whom they were the parents of. Maybe it was a combination of the two. One could be from his mother's side, the other from his father's. Not that it made much difference to Kazna.

Obâsan rambled over; her joints still a little flexible, giving hint to how great she must have been at one point. One hand cradled Kazna's cheek, and the other perched on her hip. "Get into another fight with the village boys did you?" she asked, clucking her tongue and shaking her head, "Well come on, let's fix you up. Spending the night with us are you?"

"Arigatô gozaimasu" Kazna said bowing slightly, "And it wasn't the boys this time. Not to sound prideful, but I outrun them. I did this to myself. And I think I might be spending the night. Otôsan-sama and Okâsan-dono looked… upset today…" Kazna's head still hung low, and he chewed on his lip.

His grandparents ruffled his hair, being careful not to hurt themselves on his hidden braid of kunai. "You're a good son," they reassured him.

As per usual, his grandparents, who told him little jokes and stories as he filled his belly on their goods, tended Kazna's wounds. When that business was settled he went into their kitchen and tried to be helpful. He was still too small to reach most of the ingredients on his own, but with a little help, Kazna was able to turn out whatever was asked of him.

"Kazna!" Ojiisan called to him. He had on the table in front of him the ingredients for his famous egg rolls. "It's time that you learned my secret recipe."

The next few minutes were heavenly. For a change Kazna felt involved in something and important. He was being taught secret information that not even his parents knew about. A solemn vow was made between the men of two different generations, swearing to take the recipe to the grave with them. Even though both knew how ridiculous the promise was they managed to keep their smiles tucked away. Until Obâsan snuck up on them and asked what the two were up to. Only then did the chuckles escape.

Shortly afterwards Kazna realized that he needed to grab a spare change of cloths so that he wouldn't be returning home in the same thing he'd worn the night before. Excusing himself he left the shop, swearing to return and help as soon as possible.

He didn't get more then a couple of yards before he bumped into one of the village boys. Kazna quickly apologized, and tried to make his way around them. No luck.

"Hey boys, lookie what I found. The puny runt of the town." The boy he'd run into said. He pushed Kazna into another boy.

"I don't want him!" the other boy protested, tossing Kazna to the ground. General laughter greeted this, with someone saying, "Nobody does!" Kazna just lay there, shivering. A few well-placed kicks to his stomach made his body roll about, until he was finally able to get free of them. But even as he ran they continued to torture him, tossing rocks at the back of his head.

Kazna was so caught up in simply escaping; he didn't notice where he was going. He just took whatever path his feet pulled him in. Even when the boys were a great distance behind him he continued to speed through the village, tears stuck in his eyes, tears that he would never ever let fall, no matter how much he wanted it. If only one lesson stayed with him, it was never to show weakness or tears. Finally he crashed into an immobile object, falling backwards and tumbling, covering his head. It was his father, a grim frown on his face and brows tightly knit. He thrust a massive arm and fist, filled with hard muscles at Kazna, holding out a change of clothes.

"What are you doing Kazna?" his father asked. Kazna shook and opened his mouth, trying to talk and only managing to stutter out pathetic noises. He tossed the cloths at the boy. "Go back to your grandparents."

"B-bbut t-tthe other b-bboys…" Kazna said, praying that his father would understand his mumbled plea. As much as his father frightened him, Kazna knew he'd be safe if he escorted him to the restaurant.

"You should be able to handle them on your own. If not, then you are more useless then I thought," he said, turning his back to the boy as he headed back to the house. He left Kazna sitting alone in the dirt with the smallest size of official Makki clan clothing, (which still was too big for him due to his lack of muscles) trying his hardest to find a way out of this mess of a life he'd been born into. Kazna kept coming back to his size. He was the smallest boy in Wanryoku, not counting toddlers or babies, and many of the girls had more muscle then him. _It's all my fault_, he decided, _I messed everything up for _

_Otôsan-sama and Okâsan-dono by having to be born so much earlier then intended. I was too hasty._ When he knew that the tears had dried before they came out he got up and left for the restaurant.

Early the next morning Kazna headed back to his parents, determined to not mess up his kunai training again. The fact that every time he tried to show what he could do he messed up had completely escaped his memory bank. He knocked on the door before entering, saying, "Gomen kudasai."

His parents weren't in the main entry, or even in the first room. He put down his dirty clothes and started to wander about the first floor, keeping his mouth shut. As Kazna drew closer to the stairs leading to the basement where his room was, Kazna noticed that his bedding had been brought up and shoved into a corner. Sounds from down the dank stairwell lead him to his parents, who were busy emptying the room.

"Otôsan-sama? Okâsan-dono?" he managed to squeak out, automatically trying to make himself smaller. Some instinctual part of him knew that something was seriously wrong, though he couldn't identify it. That in itself frightened Kazna. He usually had such fine control of himself, at least when it had to do with emotions. Now he didn't know what was wrong with him, or what was going on outside himself.

Kazna's father stopped and looked at him, a blank expression on his face. He reached into his kunai pouch and pulled out the worst one yet. It was mostly rusted, the handle was bent at an awkward angle, and the blade's only sharp points were in the nicks. His mother handed him an equally bad kunai.

"No need to give it back at the end of the day. Get out of here."

After a moment of shock and confusion, in which Kazna simply stood there looking at the blades, he started to move away from the room that he had slept in for so many years.

Over the next several days more kunai, each one in horrid condition, guaranteed never to work properly, were given to Kazna by other members of the Makki clan that lived in Wanryoku. It was their own way of saying that Kazna was dead to them, and that he had died a coward's death. Kazna didn't have anyplace to stay now. He couldn't even see his grandparents anymore. Every door was shut to him wherever he went. But it didn't bother him. He didn't mind sleeping outside, even if it got cold at night, and at least he had kunai now to keep. If his life before this point had been bleak, and a small part of him did view it as bleak, then this sort of existence was almost nice.

Then one morning Kazna woke up from behind a dumpster, planning on finding some kind of food to put into his empty stomach. He hadn't eaten since he last saw his grandparents, and that was getting close to a week ago now. Kazna's stomach had shrunken, and he lost a lot of weight, something that he didn't have much of to begin with.

He had barely made it out onto the street before his old "friends" found him. This time they were armed with more then just rocks to throw at him. They had shuriken and kunai as well.

"Nyah! It's the runt!"

"Get the runt!"

"Huh?" Kazna asked, looking at them confused. He thought for sure now that he didn't belong to his clan anymore that he'd be left alone.

"Kill the runt!"

"Nyah!"

"Yeah!"

Kazna ran. He ran faster and harder then he ever had in his life. Tears began to well up to the point where they clouded his vision. Still he did not pause until he reached the entrance to the caves.

Security was very important in Wanryoko. The first line of defense was a catacomb created by caves that surrounded the small village. The maze was filled with dead ends, and some ends that lead to death. One of the first things that parents taught their child was how to get around in the labyrinth. It would be imbedded in their minds, as was the case with Kazna as he fled from the village he called home for so long.


End file.
